


Stop It, Sol

by areyoufr



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: A Convenience Store, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fluff, M/M, but there's a forest, clingy hansol, i don't want to spoil anything, too calm seungkwan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:04:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoufr/pseuds/areyoufr
Summary: Hansol was always asked to stop.





	Stop It, Sol

“Hansol, stop it.”   
  
Seungkwan scrambles over to the speakerphone, immediately pausing the music. He gives what he hoped to be a friendly smile to the potential customer -- oh, they just passed by. . .   
  
Hansol quits dancing and sits next to his best friend, who is busy checking the store’s record book. “You should’ve just let me danced.”   
  
“You’re dancing with those tacky dances!”   
  
“The person who just passed by was Lee Chan,” Hansol explains. “He’s a dancer in our school.  _ You _ made me stop dancing. How do you think we’re gonna have customers if you keep the store boring?” Seungkwan glares at him. The younger raises his hands up in defense.   
  
“And what do you mean by ‘we’? I’m the only one employed here.”

 

Hansol snorted. “By paper, yeah, but I accompany you.”

 

“You’re still not employed.”   
  
“I literally entertain the customers!” Hansol insists, and Seungkwan pulls his beanie down as far as it can reach his best friend’s head. Hansol places it back calmly. “If you check the record, though, we only sold the peanuts when I advertised them.”   
  
Seungkwan looks at the far away view, seeing the open, unruly grass and the tall trees, allowing the lonely “convenience” store to stand out amongst it all. It had the natural wind for air-conditioning, an open window for the accessibility, and a face-to-face distance with the counter. It was, as called in the Philippines, a  _ sari-sari  _ store, where almost all of the goods in convenience are being sold. Hansol laughs when the wind blows aggressively on Seungkwan’s hair, and he reaches out to comb it back in place. 

  
Thanks to Chwe Hansol, Seungkwan never feels such emotion. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, I told you stop coming here,” Seungkwan mutters under his breath, as he counted coins underneath the table. Once he’s sure about the change, he looks back up at the customer with the most  _ appropriate  _ smile he could muster, handing their change. 

 

“Have a good day,” he says, and doesn’t get a reply back. 

 

“Okay, Kwan,” Hansol replies playfully, though the statement wasn’t for him—then he sneezes rather abruptly—from the only stool that exists. “I’ll have a good day.”

 

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “I meant for you to go home. You’re sick.” 

 

“We only see each other during the summer, why can’t I be with you?”

 

“Because it’s not healthy for you.” Seungkwan opens the record book and marks another line next to the item that was recently bought a few seconds ago. 

 

Another addition to his pay. 

 

Hansol sneezes from behind him again. 

 

“I don’t have meds for you here, Hansol.”

 

“No, it’s okay.” Seungkwan hears the grin in his voice. 

 

“Does your mother approve of this?”

 

“You talk like you’re in some  _ prim _ and proper  _ medieval _ ages!” Hansol swayed his head from side-to-side to prove a point. “Yes, she trusts you very much.” 

 

Yikes. 

 

“Okay, that’s valid, well. . .” Seungkwan turns around and faces Hansol. “Sit down and rest.” 

 

“You’ll have no seat again.” 

 

The elder of the two pulls Hansol’s beanie down to his ears. The younger never really took his beanie off, and Seungkwan respected that. 

 

“A pathetic lizard prince like you deserves a stupid throne, anyway.” 

 

“That makes you as my wise adviser!”

 

“Not wise!”

 

Hansol takes the other stool, and he removes the lunch sitting on it, that he had prepared for Seungkwan. “Yeah, you’re an idiot. Just sit down and eat your lunch.” 

 

The wind blows towards Seungkwan’s hair again, and Hansol uses his fingers to comb the other’s hair back in place. 

 

“Your hair’s really nice for an adviser. You should be like, I don’t know, having a dry one with a beard, right?” 

 

Seungkwan snorts. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol stop putting your feet up.”

 

“It’s your last day here and you’re still telling me to do things? What an overhovering dinosaur gorilla.” 

 

“Because. . .” Seungkwan racks his brain for an answer. “It’s not cool to do so. If I was a customer and I see—“ he motions to Hansol’s feet on the desk “— _ that _ , I’m not going to be impressed.” 

 

Hansol places his feet down. “Alright, fine.” 

 

Seungkwan smiles. “Good.” 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, stop hugging me. The bus is about to leave!” 

 

“Only if you promise to write me letters!”

 

“There’s. . .” Seungkwan was about to say  _ internet _ , but he remembers that wasn’t much present here. “I can’t. I’m busy.” 

 

Hansol removes his arms from Seungkwan, adjusting his beanie. “Even if it’s just one word with your name on it??”

 

“It would only be ten months, then I’m back here for the summer,” Seungkwan says, “and my sister’s calling for me! I’ll be working in the same store. Okay?”

 

“You’re right. Okay.”

  
  
  
  
  


_ Hansol, stop,  _ Seungkwan thinks in his head. He pushes the letters away and hides them underneath his mattress. 

 

No, no, the mattress isn’t his. 

 

He lies down. 

 

The sounds get louder. 

 

But Hansol’s voice is the loudest. 

  
  
  
  


_ Dear Hansol,  _

 

_ Stop giving me too many letters. I can’t read all of them. I have so much schoolwork to do, and I can’t go to the post office every time.  _

 

_ The post office from our university is miles away. I’m not very oriented with the snail mail thing too.  _

 

_ But thank you for asking me about how I am doing, and for telling me that it’s okay if I rant to you though you won’t understand half of the context of my rants.  _

 

_ There’s only three months left. I’ll see you again in the summer with your family. Tell them I miss them!  _

 

_ Wishing you and your family well,  _

 

_ Boo Seungkwan.  _

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol,” Seungkwan sighs, forcing himself not to smile. “Stop. You look like an idiot.” 

 

The first thing he sees when he arrives back in the forest-y lands in the summer is Hansol’s family, who had invited Seungkwan and his family inside for lunch. He sees Sofia, who looks cooler than the usual, as well as Hansol, who doesn’t look much different. 

 

He still wears the beanie and the baggy clothing, but the difference is, he’s much taller now. Seungkwan could barely reach his eyes. 

 

But he was making these weird faces again while saying things incomprehensible to Seungkwan. 

 

“What did you drink?”

 

“He’s been to a book club,” Sofia explains for him. “I guess that’s what happens when you’re lonely.”

 

Seungkwan gives a questioning look. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Sol, stop it.”

 

Hansol laughs, looking down at Seungkwan who was checking the store’s record book. “I get that you’re taller than me, but I’m busy.”

 

“You’re always busy.” 

 

Seungkwan hums, closing the store’s record book. “I’m done!”

 

“So how’s school?” Hansol asks conversationally. 

 

He doesn’t know why Hansol still calls it ‘school.’ 

 

“It’s been good.”

 

Hansol tilts his head. “Oh really? No rants?”

 

“I’ve let it all out already.” 

 

“Nothing extraordinary happened?” 

 

Seungkwan tries to recall. “ _ Well _ . . .”

 

“Well?” 

 

He doesn’t remember. He had those ten months spent in trying to formulate a final, important decision. 

 

He comes back in the summer empty-handed. 

 

“Well, nothing. Let’s talk about you instead.” 

 

Hansol laughs. “I always talk about me. You just never listen.” 

 

“I don’t?”

 

“Okay, then, while you were away I got a position as the my school’s radio DJ.” 

 

“Woah.” Seungkwan is surprised. “Really?”

 

“Yeah! I do it anonymously, though. I can’t, you know, show myself and stuff.” 

 

Thanks to Chwe Hansol, Seungkwan’s days are filled with glee. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Stop stop it by Got7?”

 

“Yeah, you got that right,” Hansol laughs, shuffling the music once more. It is around noontime, the time when everyone is usually inside their homes eating proper lunch meals, often paired up with rice. 

 

So, it makes sense that Hansol and Seungkwan aren’t exactly focusing on the store. They don’t need to, for now. 

 

Seungkwan looks at Hansol and motions to his beanie.

 

“How come you never take that off?”

 

Hansol shrugs. 

 

“Just because.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Sorry,” Hansol says awkwardly. “I can’t tell you.” 

 

“Why not?”

 

“It’s weird.”

 

“No it’s not!” 

 

Hansol is getting mysterious and Seungkwan is getting excited. 

 

“Please, Kwan, let’s just drop the subject. . .”

 

“Come on, what’s so deep about it?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

Seungkwan reaches out and tugs the end of the beanie. 

 

“. . .no, wait. . .”

 

“I’m just curious!” Seungkwan laughs. “I thought we were friends!”

 

“Yes..” Hansol forces a smile, fixing his beanie. “We are, we are, Seungkwan, but I can’t tell you right now.” 

 

“You don’t trust me?”

 

“I do, Kwan. Really.”

 

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

 

“Sorry,” Hansol says, and Seungkwan almost pulls Hansol’s beanie away. 

 

Hansol pulls it back in place. 

 

It was then that Seungkwan realized his mistake. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, please stop ignoring me,” is the first thing that Seungkwan said after working at the  _ sari-sari  _ store. He had made his way towards the modest Chwe household, and he was let in without any objections. 

 

“I’m sorry for earlier. . .

 

I shouldn’t have said or done that.” 

 

He is aware that his voice is heard all over the house, but thankfully, none of them decided to comment on it.

 

“I’m really sorry, Hansol. I just realized my mistake too late.” 

 

He knocks on the bedroom door again. 

 

“Are you asleep already?” 

 

No answer. 

 

“Please accept my apology.”

 

No answer. 

 

“Are you still going to accompany me tomorrow?”

 

To his surprise, Hansol finally opens his bedroom door, with his beanie gone and hair in the open. “Oh, yeah, of course.” 

 

He looks better without the beanie. 

 

“So that’s what your hair looks like.” 

 

“One second too long.” Hansol grabs his beanie, and before he could wear it, Seungkwan pats his hair.

 

“Fluffy.” 

 

“If you’re going to keep doing that, I’m afraid we’re not going to step outside this house.” 

 

“Why?”

 

“ _ They  _ can’t see.” 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, stop stuttering and just say what you want to say.” 

 

Seungkwan closes the store’s record book, leaving the pen on the pages to mark where he had stopped counting. He fixes some of the products displayed, such as those cookies in jars and the pre-packed rice meals. 

 

The store decided to innovate. 

 

And so Seungkwan doesn’t like wasting his time waiting for Hansol to say whatever he wants to say.

 

“Uh. . . okay, okay, shit—no, wait. It’s going to be quite weird because we’re,” Hansol points to the both of them, “ _ friends _ , but, uh, I have this on my mind for so long and I want to let it out. It’s okay if you won’t reciprocate or what. . . I like you.” 

 

“Ah.”

 

“More than a friend.”

 

Seungkwan nods. 

 

“Such a dry answer.” 

 

Seungkwan smiles. “I appreciate that  _ like _ . So, thanks.”

 

Hansol stays quiet, looking far away in the open, beyond the walls of the  _ sari-sari  _ store.

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, stop being a baby and come hug me.” Seungkwan opens his arms wide, and Hansol, although reluctantly, moves closer to hug him back. 

 

The elder tries to act like nothing happened ever since Hansol confessed to him weeks ago. What else should he do, anyway? 

 

“Should I still send letters?”

 

“It’s up to you.”

 

Seungkwan lets go first. Hansol’s hands linger for a slight moment before actually letting go. 

 

“You go to a book club, right?”

 

Hansol smiles bitterly. “It’s so lonely without you here.”

 

“You have Sofia, and your family.”

 

“They have responsibilities. I have mine, too.” 

 

The wind blows softly onto Seungkwan’s hair, and Hansol combs his friend’s hair back to place. 

  
  
  
  
  


Hansol stopped sending letters.

 

He never even began writing one.

  
  
  
  
  


_ “Hansol, please stop visiting. The doors will be closed soon.” _

 

_ “Leave me alone, please.”  _

 

Seungkwan tries to block the noise. It must’ve been in his head, because Hansol can’t be here. 

 

It’s impossible. 

 

Why the bloody hell would the poisoner visit him? 

 

. . . _ you study at a university. . . _

 

_ “Hansol, he’s a prisoner!” _

 

_. . .you visit Hansol every summer. . . _

 

_. . .you sell. . . _

 

_ You sell.  _

 

Seungkwan flinches. 

 

_ You sell.  _

 

Sell. 

 

_ Because you’re a merchant.  _

 

Seungkwan knows he doesn’t study. He  _ remembers  _ he doesn’t. He’s merely a prisoner under the kingdom’s protection now. 

 

Nothing more.

 

Nothing less. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, stop crying over him.” 

 

Earlier that day, Lee Chan tries not to touch the glass vials and scientific equipment in Hansol’s laboratory. He wouldn’t want to be poisoned himself. 

 

“I can’t.”

 

On the corner of the laboratory, stands a large clock that Hansol used to mark the end of Seungkwan’s punishment. It is today. 

 

Or more specifically, a few hours later, and Hansol is planning to visit the prison cell. 

 

“You should stop involving your feelings with your career. I mean I know it’s just one job that you got overly emotional with, but,” Chan says, “the damage has been done.” 

 

The damage had gone like this: Chwe Hansol is one of the kingdom’s poisoners — no,  _ chemist  _ — he works at the medical field, as well as in the field of royal punishment. Originally, he was training to be one of the kingdom’s royal guards, and he might as well as be part of the country’s military team, too. 

 

He wasn’t exactly good at combat, though. His training was five times as intensive to at least reach Prince Seokmin’s level in battle. 

 

And it’s not a good thing either that this merchant, by the name of Boo Seungkwan, gets to see him being scolded for not shooting arrows properly or for being too slow in dodging swords. The merchant would be out there, selling products to energize whoever. 

 

Hansol remembers climbing up the tall, tall fence, and he sees the merchant holding a basket, looking up at him from the streets. Thank goodness, there weren’t much people there. 

 

“I made energizing drinks,” Seungkwan advertised. “You look quite exhausted, good sir. Care for one drink?” 

 

“Um. . .”

 

“A drink??!” Prince Seokmin suddenly appears from nowhere, giddily smiling with his combat attire. He looks up at Hansol, who almost scrambles down from the fence.

 

“No, no, don’t get down! Let’s get some drinks! That’s Sir Boo, right?” 

 

Hansol nervously looks back at Seungkwan. 

 

“Boo Seungkwan,” he says. 

 

Hansol remembers answering  _ yes  _ to Prince Seokmin. 

 

“Get down there, good sir. You seem to need rest. I’ll just climb up to give you the drinks.” That’s what happens every time, then. Hansol would climb to call Seungkwan’s attention, and he would go down under Seungkwan’s instructions, and Seungkwan would climb up to give whatever product they (Prince Seokmin, actually) had asked for. 

 

However, just as he was becoming better in combat one morning, Boo Seungkwan, who was creating a new shampoo, maybe, spills poison on him—on his hair, mostly—by accident.

 

Instead of dying, Hansol had spent a whole year asleep, almost being buried alive if he didn’t open his eyes. He woke up having limited immunity to untouchable poisons. Others could have died at strychnine, but Hansol gets sick for a few hours, and comes back alive and well. 

 

Thus, he had a job of being a chemist instead. 

 

But his days of being asleep — months — offered punishment for the merchant’s end. 

 

The punishment was similar to Hansol’s. 

 

A year-long sleep, and if he fails to wake up after a year, exactly the same time as Hansol did, he would be buried. 

 

And if he wasn’t dead by then, but he fails to open his eyes, he would be buried alive. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol I said sTOP-“

 

Boo Seungkwan moves in the prison’s mattress. 

 

Hansol freezes in his tracks, and Chan reaches for the keys in his pockets.

 

Seungkwan touches the  _ thing  _ where he was lying on. A cold, hard mattress. This isn’t a mattress. It’s a rock. 

 

His hand moves up to the walls, and he feels rocks, as if he was inside a cave. 

 

Then—that  _ smell.  _

 

He was in a prison. A prison cell. 

 

He moves his foot on the edge of the rock and kicks it.  _ Sheesh.  _

 

Then he feels paper collide with his toes.  _ Paper _ ?  _ What _ ..

 

Hansol widens his eyes.  _ Open your eyes, Seungkwan.  _

 

It is true that Hansol wrote letters for Seungkwan. He left them on the rock where Seungkwan lies down. The real reason why Seungkwan never read them wasn’t because he’s busy, as the poison made his mind believe, but because he was asleep. 

 

Hansol had secretly manipulated the poison to be as gentle as possible after the first one was induced. He was instructed to let him drink another one regularly, a dream so bad that he would have a headache, similar to the one that Hansol had experienced when the poison was spilled on his hair. 

 

The chemist did give him a bad dream. 

 

A dream that opened the window to reality and was happy enough to make Seungkwan choose falling asleep, rather than waking up. 

 

_ Open your eyes, please.  _

 

_ I know you’re awake.  _

  
  
  
  
  


“Let’s stop the music,” the King instructs. 

 

Prince Seokmin looks up from the meal he had just finished, placing the chopsticks neatly at 4 o’clock fashion on the plate. 

 

A servant passes by and takes the plate away from him. 

 

“Yes, Father? What is the matter?”

 

“The time is up for one prisoner.” 

 

Prince Seokmin hides his nervousness. He remembers the merchant he used to buy drinks from. 

 

“I’ll be visiting him.” He begins to stand up, but Seokmin holds out his arm. 

 

“Can I come with you, Father?” 

  
  
  
  


_ Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.  _

 

The poison takes its final blow, surging through Seungkwan’s veins and making its way through his brain. 

 

Is he waking up? 

 

Seungkwan’s eyes remain closed. But he feels everything that can be felt. He can feel the cold, hard mattress. He can feel his back hurting from numbness. His fingers slowly travel back again to the prison walls, and they feel rocky. 

 

His body feels numb, and so Seungkwan moves his feet. 

 

He smells the wet, after-rain smell of the prison. The smoke emitting from a nearby fire. It isn’t a pleasant smell.

 

It isn’t pleasant at all. 

 

His hand feels a disgusting, uneven set of rocks—or vines? Or a lizard, whatever, and whatever it is—

 

_ Fluffy.  _

 

He feels something fluffy. 

 

He feels Hansol’s hair. 

 

It’s fluffy. He combs Hansol’s hair with his fingers, with an attempt to put it back in place. 

 

_ “Open your eyes,” _ Chan says. 

 

“Stop telling me that. . .”

 

His hand brushes Hansol’s hair once again to put it back in place. 

  
  
  
  
  


“Stop being so slow, and kindly get out of my way,” the King instructs firmly, and the soldiers move out of their way to give entrance to the King and Prince Seokmin towards the chamber. 

 

When they arrive at the scene, they see an open prison cell, Lee Chan, a royal guard, and Chwe Hansol, the chemist, sitting in front of a sleeping Boo Seungkwan. 

 

“Is he awake?”

 

Prince Seokmin looks at the clock. He vaguely remembers the expected time Seungkwan was to wake up—and it would be four seconds from now. 

 

_ WAKE UP, MERCHANT. _

 

Four. . .

 

Three. . .

 

Two,

 

**One.**

  
  
  
  
  


“Hansol, why don’t you  _ start _ dancing?”

 

Chwe Hansol stares at the crowded ballroom, at the twirling dresses and at the intertwined hands of those who are dancing. People switch partners once the beat opts them to. 

 

“Should I?”

 

“It’s an unspoken rule.” Chan shrugs, looking dashing in his suit. 

 

“Yes, it is. But I prefer not to.” 

 

“Suit yourself, then. I will be tending to the Prince now.”

 

“It’s fine, Chan,” Hansol says with a small smile. “Do your duties first.” 

 

He suddenly feels alone. . . Fine, Hansol decides he will dance.  _ But he can’t dance with other people!  _

 

As Hansol starts to walk towards the dancing center, the music stops. 

 

Chan passes by. 

 

When he turns around, his heart almost stopped, but he smiles the most polite one he could muster, just as exactly how Seungkwan did it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's up to your interpretation on what happened!
> 
> When I was writing this, I received mixed opinions when I asked on what the ending should be. Hence, the interpretation of the ending is up to you.


End file.
